“Nice office,” he commented.
Stillwell couldn’t hide his gratification, although he tried. “The appearance of success breeds success,” he murmured.
Could be. In Clay’s world, success didn’t look quite like this. It was often the sweet click of handcuffs closing on a pair of wrists.
“I’m getting the feeling Stillwell Trucking is a much bigger company than I’d imagined. Doesn’t have anything to do with what I’m here about, but I admit I’m curious. Are you entirely regional?”
When he began the company, James Stillwell said, he’d had only a couple of trucks. Used ones, but with shiny new coats of paint and the logo that had now become well known. “Mostly we operated within the state,” he explained. “There were runs between Portland and Bend, The Dalles and Klamath Falls. Ten years ago, we expanded to encompass the Northwest. Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana. Now we cover the entire west coast.” He chuckled. “San Diego to Vancouver, B.C. We’ve kept the original business, of course. We have long-haul trucks and short-haul ones. There’s scarcely a business of any significance in the tri-county area that doesn’t turn to Stillwell Trucking for their transportation needs.”
That was the brochure version, but Clay couldn’t really blame him.
“So, Ms. Wilson. I gather she’s in your bookkeeping department?”
Department, it developed, was a misnomer. There were only three people in Finance—Stillwell laid it on heavy when he corrected Clay—including, yes, a CPA as well as Ms. Wilson and a Betty Jean Bitterman. Betty Jean had been with the company the longest, but Stillwell implied that, as much as he valued her for her loyalty, she hadn’t caught on to new software well. He couldn’t imagine functioning without Melissa. He shook his head in dismay and repeated, “I just can’t imagine.”
Clay asked a few polite questions. Did Mr. Stillwell have the sense anything had been troubling Ms. Wilson? Did he socialize with the Wilsons? Was he aware that a move out of the area was a possibility?
Troubling her? He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Not at all. But of course he didn’t see that much of her on a day-to-day basis. Perhaps Sergeant Renner would care to speak to the people who did...? Delicate pause. Yes, Sergeant Renner would.
Stillwell claimed he’d never been to the Wilsons’ home, but naturally had met Melissa’s husband at Christmas parties, company picnics and the like. The children, too. He’d found them delightful. Delightful.
He did love to repeat himself.
“Yes,” he agreed, frowning enough to make plain that he had been concerned, “she did tell me that her husband’s job hunt hadn’t borne fruit. We would hate to lose her, but certainly will understand if she and Drew have to make that choice.”
What else could he say?
Clay was ushered to the finance department, where utilitarian made a reappearance. Walls were white, floors vinyl, desks nothing fancy. Betty Jean, who at a guess was in her early sixties, expressed her deep emotions and assured Clay she had been praying for Melissa and that poor, poor child. As for troubled, on the contrary, she’d had the impression Melissa had been feeling especially pleased about something. Betty Jean, too, had known that a move was a possibility, but didn’t recall Melissa saying anything about it in some time. Perhaps as much as a couple of months? she said hesitantly.
Clay had to wonder how friendly these two very disparate women really were.
The CPA was fortyish and gave the impression that the interruption wasn’t welcome. Glenn Arnett had his own office, so although he surely interacted on a regular basis with the two women, he wouldn’t be spending the day listening to their chatter. Clay got the feeling he’d hardly known Melissa Wilson had children or a life outside Stillwell Trucking. If in fact, he had a closer relationship with her, he was a damn good actor.
Clay thanked them all, thought about detouring back by James Stillwell’s office but decided not to. He hadn’t learned anything especially useful. It was possible Stillwell knew all his employees intimately, but his enthusiasm for Melissa, his insistence that he relied on her, had pinged on Clay’s radar. She was a lowly bookkeeper. Why would she have any special significance to him?
Unless...
Damn it, he thought, shaking his head as he walked to his department-issue Explorer, how could Jane not know what her sister had been up to? Was there any chance she was shielding her?
He unlocked the vehicle and got in behind the wheel, mulling over his next step. After a moment he grimaced.
Somehow, all he could think about was Jane.
CHAPTER FIVE
STEAMING FROM HAVING to run a gauntlet of reporters outside, Jane held on tight to Alexis’s hand. Couldn’t they see they were scaring a little girl? Thank God the hospital administration was refusing to let them inside even as far as the lobby.
She hated thinking that the two of them might appear on the evening news. Thank God she’d taken Alexis by her house so she could change clothes and pack. Viewers would have really loved the sight of her in yesterday’s wrinkled clothes.
A day or two and the vultures will lose interest, she told herself. No, better yet, they’d lose interest as soon as Bree was found. It was the missing child that had them all thinking this was a gripping, front-page, top-of-the-hour story.
Walking down the broad hospital corridor, her steps shortened to accommodate her niece’s, Jane was startled to see Drew sitting on one of the chairs clustered in the open alcove in front of ICU. Even from a distance, she saw despair in his posture. He was bent over, both of his hands fisted in his hair.
Fear shot through her like an electric shock. Oh, dear God—had Lissa died?
“There’s Daddy!” Alexis cried. “Daddy!” she called.
For an instant, he didn’t respond at all. At last he slowly, painfully straightened and Jane saw his face. He’d aged yet another ten years. Oh, no.
“Drew?” She didn’t realize she was whispering until Alexis looked up at her.
“What’s wrong, Auntie Jane?”
“I... Nothing.”
Drew had risen to his feet. “Lexie.”
She ran to her daddy, and he swung her up into his arms and held her as if she was a glimpse of heaven. Eyes closed, he laid his cheek against her head.
Jane walked as slowly as she dared, fighting the desperate desire to turn and run away. She didn’t want to know. Her chest ached. My sister.
But Drew was looking at her now and holding out an arm. Jane walked into the circle of it and, for a moment, laid her head on his chest, feeling the comfort of an embrace that also contained Alexis’s small bony body.
But finally, she had to know. She straightened and stepped back, and his arm dropped away. “What’s happened?” Jane was horribly conscious of the way Alexis’s head came up and her alarmed stare, but how could she not ask?
He only shook his head. “Nothing’s changed. It’s just...getting to me. Here, sweetheart.” He bent to set his daughter down. “Look, they have some toys over in the corner.”
She hesitated, obviously reluctant to leave her father, but temptation sent her trotting to the play corner, where there was a child-size plastic table and pair of chairs, coloring books and crayons, and toys that looked designed to keep little hands busy. She took the seat that allowed her to keep an eye on her father and aunt, however.
“Something’s wrong,” Jane said with certainty, keeping her voice low.
“That cop.” The kindest, most easy-going of men, he snarled the two words. “He thinks I did something to hurt Lissa, and God knows what he thinks I did to Bree. He asked if